


In which everyone* is an idiot

by Overlord_Bethany



Series: Poison in Paris [3]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Paris hijinks, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 12:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12254289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overlord_Bethany/pseuds/Overlord_Bethany
Summary: *probably a tremendous exaggeration





	In which everyone* is an idiot

In general, Gil had a tendency to avoid official functions. Perhaps he instinctively shunned the social set that once rejected him. Perhaps he truly preferred the company of the lowlifes of Paris. Perhaps he simply lacked the attention span to tolerate any of it. Whatever the case, when Tarvek saw him decorating Colette’s arm, his eyebrows rose in a silent question. She smirked at him. Of course she did. 

Tarvek watched Gil meander here and there, chatting with professors, with dignitaries, even with the Master of Paris himself. As though he belonged. As though some of these selfsame people had not treated him cruelly in childhood. Gil behaved as though it had never happened, which made Tarvek’s chest ache. He watched Gil charm his childhood bullies, who also acted like they had always been friends. That part made Tarvek angry. 

So he sulked in silence, trying not to glare when Gil laughed with a man who had once stolen his books, mocked him, called him nothing but Nameless. Well, the Nameless boy had grown into the Master’s pet, and everyone knew at least that much. They would never dare bully him now. Gil no longer needed Tarvek. 

“You look like you’re chewing a mouthful of burnt coffee grounds.”

Tarvek glanced at Colette. Of course she had found him. “Isn’t he supposed to be yours for the evening?” he said, gesturing toward Gil. “Maybe you could keep him from setting something on fire?”

“We both know that there’s no stopping him when he decides a situation needs a little fire.”

Tarvek scoffed. “A little?” he said, and Colette laughed. 

“Well, maybe more than a little. What about you?” She gave him an arch look. “Don’t tell me you came by yourself. How unfashionable!”

“Worse. I’ve brought my cousin.”

“Which one?” A reasonable note of alarm crept into Colette’s voice. Tarvek believed that his family ought to alarm most people. 

“Seffie,” he said with a grin. “She can’t have gone far.”

Much to her credit, Colette’s stare was steady as stone. “You assume I have something to say to her?”

“Oh, of course not.”

“Of course not,” Colette echoed, utterly lacking conviction. She patted Tarvek on the arm. “Don’t pine all evening. It’s terrible for the digestion.” With that, she drifted away, leaving Tarvek with little else to do. 

He watched Gil perhaps a bit too closely, for otherwise he never would have seen what happened. Gil drifted over to a knot of people, where he set his beverage down beside Seffie’s. He talked in an animated manner, gesticulating and bouncing on the balls of his feet. Everyone watched him, rapt until he had finished explaining. Seffie sidled closer to him, but Gil evaded neatly when she made a subtle grab for his arm. He picked up Seffie’s glass rather than his own, saluted the assembled company with it, and wandered away. 

Tarvek watched Colette slip into the cluster of people around Seffie for just a moment before drifting off to talk to someone else. Then his stare returned to Gil, and he frowned. 

Gil wobbled. Then he lifted the empty glass in his hand, frowned at it, and tucked it into a potted pyracantha. Tarvek moved to intercept him. 

“You idiot,” he hissed as he bumped up against Gil’s side. “What was in Seffie’s glass?”

“Dunno…” For a moment, his tone sounded like denial. Then he added, “Thought it was poison.”

Tarvek processed this information. Stupid, apparently suicidal Gil stared at him, eyes wide and pupils dilated, making his brain turn in several useless circles before accomplishing any reliable thought. Who had attempted to drug Seffie? To what end? Why had Gil caught it instead of Varpa? Frowning, Tarvek glanced around. Where  _was_  Varpa, anyway? “Did you see who did it?”

“Oh, yes.” Gil nodded in an odd, liquid way, as though his head might slide off his neck. “Can’t give chase. A pity.”

“Can you name the culprit?”

“Ummm… no.” Gil beamed as though he knew Tarvek found his smile adorable. Dammit. 

“Describe him,” Tarvek said through his teeth. 

Gil tried to gesture and succeeded at a loose flailing motion. “Big ugly sod.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” Tarvek complained, when Gil added:

“Kinda seemed to like the color purple.”

Oh. Of course.  _Family_  business. That still didn’t clear up who would have tried to drug Seffie, but Tarvek could assume that he himself may also be a target. And Varpa could be incapacitated somewhere nearby, for all he really knew. Tarvek grimaced. “Come on,” he said, trying to steer Gil away from the potted plants. “We need to find Colette. Now.”

“Nuh-huh.” Gil trundled along, yielding to the pressure of Tarvek’s hand on his back. “Colette can catch him.”

Probably not, but Tarvek didn’t say so. “You’re hopeless, you know that? I mean, I get why you’d swap glasses, but why would you actually drink it?”

“Seemed like the thing to do,” Gil said with a sudden steadiness that Tarvek found unnerving. Then his steps faltered, and he started to hum softly. 

“You’re an idiot.” Spotting Colette, Tarvek propelled Gil toward her. “And you’re going to die of your stupidity one day. Mademoiselle Voltaire, forgive me, but I’m going to have to steal your alleged gentleman.”

“Permanently, I hope?” Colette’s grin faded when she looked at Gil. “Oh, what is it  _this_  time?”

Tarvek kept his expression relaxed, though his tone turned grim. “Drugged.” He turned to Gil. “You’re certain it’s not poison?” Briefly, he made a mental list of the antidotes in his pockets. 

“Oh, no, this stuff is weird. Psychotropic? I think that’s the right word.”

Tarvek let Gil lean against him, but he pointed in accusation. “He drank it on purpose. He  _thought it was poison_. That’s not just Mad, that’s insane!” But he was getting off topic. “This drug, whatever it is, was meant for Seffie. Would you mind—”

“Keeping an eye on her?” Colette nodded. “Consider it done.”

“Yes, you’re a good egg,” Gil said to Colette, grinning. Then he turned his guileless smile on Tarvek. “And you're… structural.”

“I suppose that’s a compliment,” Tarvek grumbled. Colette waved them away. 

“Go on. Take him home to sleep it off. I suppose you’ll be noble about it.”

Tarvek tried to peer down at Gil, who was listing at a precarious angle, sliding downward as he did. In ridiculous slow motion, he ended with his face against Tarvek’s neck. 

“Structural,” Gil mumbled, muffled in Tarvek’s collar. 

“I’m sure.” Tarvek began to doubt whether he could get Gil to walk under his own power. “I’m going to need that empty glass.”

“Fern,” Gil said with a vague gesture that nearly displaced an entire tray of drinks. 

“Pyracantha,” Tarvek corrected. 

“Whatever.”

Colette shook her head at them. “Go,” she repeated. Then she craned her neck, looking around for Seffie. 

“Look, I think we won’t draw too much attention if you just pretend to be drunk. Think you can manage—As a matter of public record,” Tarvek interrupted himself, “I need to know: Are you licking me, or are you drooling on me?”

“Mmph,” Gil replied. The sound vibrated on Tarvek’s skin, and he flinched away. 

“Walk.” Taking Gil by the shoulders, Tarvek frog-marched him back to the potted plants. “We’re arguing because you’re drunk again.”

“Are we?” Gil gazed at him, eyes wide and a little misty. 

Tarvek growled and dragged a hand down his own face in exasperation. “That’s our cover,” he hissed through his teeth. “Can you manage that?”

“Oh, I’m pretty good at making you yell at me.” Gil’s head bobbed in that odd, boneless way again. Tarvek wanted to reach out and steady it. 

“That’s because you’re an idiot! It’s for your own good.”

Gil beamed at him. “Oh, are we playing now?”

While making a noise of frustration, Tarvek reached into the pyracantha and retrieved the empty glass. “We are most certainly not playing. I can’t let you embarrass yourself in front of… these people.” He slipped the glass into his coat pocket. 

“What, them?” Gil made a rude noise and a dismissive gesture. 

“Yes, them!” Tarvek felt a wave of genuine irritation. “People I’ve protected you from before! Or don’t you remember?”

Gil went sullen and quiet. “Of course I remember.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders, which somehow caused him to list dangerously to one side. Tarvek moved to prop him up. 

“So we’re leaving. Right now.”

Gil yielded like overcooked pasta when Tarvek steered him toward the nearest exit, but he still voiced protests. “I’m fine,” he insisted. “I want… wanted them to see me. To see that they don’t matter now. That I'm…”

“The Sparkiest Spark they’ve ever met?”

“Hah, something like that.” Gil gave him a small smile. Cool night air rushed over them as they stepped out onto the street. 

“That supposes that they’ve never actually spoken to the Master,” Tarvek pointed out. He considered transportation. Anything with a driver would constitute too great a hazard with Gil in this state. Anyway, it was a nice evening for a walk. Gil mumbled something that might have been agreement, and he leaned against Tarvek. Structural. Tarvek tried not to smile. 

They walked in silence for a while, with Gil’s arm looped somehow beneath Tarvek’s coat. Tarvek pretended not to notice. Gil sagged and made small noises, possibly incomprehensible commentary. Tarvek tried to steady him, but they both stumbled, and he had to focus on his own footing. They blundered to a standstill. 

“You boys have had too much!” called a pedestrian from across the street. Tarvek waved in acknowledgment of the comment. 

“Tell him I’m not drunk,” Gil whispered, and Tarvek shook his head. They continued onward. Another two blocks, and Gil’s face went white with alarm. “Oh! Don’t take me home. I… lost my keys.”

“Lost?” Tarvek challenged the transparent lie. 

Gil giggled. “Well, they were eaten by a hippo with mechanical legs. It’s a long story.” 

“You are absolutely pathetic.”

“Is that an endearment?”

Impaired Gil was growing entirely too savvy. Tarvek scowled at him. “You’re an idiot.”

“Who isn’t?” With that, Gil proceeded to hum a cheery tune for another block and a half. Then he abruptly stopped. “Look, I know you’re a terrible sneaky sneak,” he said, “but you’re a good friend to Colette. I appreciate that.”

“Well, I’m not doing it for you,” Tarvek scoffed. 

“Oh. Um.” Gil started to shuffle his feet. “You’re not, um… You don't—”

“We’re friends,” Tarvek interrupted firmly. “No more than than.” When Gil looked visibly relieved, he added, “You’re not in love with her yourself, are you?” It seemed half of Paris was. 

“Me? Oh, no. No,” Gil repeated, sounding terribly sad. “I don’t think I have the capacity to… to care about somebody in that way.”

Trying to crush the wave of despair within him, Tarvek reached into his pocket for his keys. “No? You’re probably just too busy trying to die in messy ways.”

“Death is always messy,” Gil replied, sounding eerily lucid again. Then he tilted his head and peered up the steps ahead of them. “Where are we?”

“My rooms.”

“Rooms? Plural? Oh, that’s fancy-pants.” Gil lurched to the side, and Tarvek had to drag him back. 

“I have no idea how you manage to survive without private lab space.” If Tarvek could have shied from the hand on the small of his back, he would have. Instead, he used Gil’s grip on him for leverage to drag him up the stairs. 

Gil’s grip on his waistband. 

Tarvek fumbled his keys against the lock. How had Gil managed to get his hand beneath a well-fitted waistcoat? A silk shirt was not barrier enough between them. Tarvek tried to pretend it was. 

“Having difficulty?” Gil needled. 

Absolutely, yes. Without comment, Tarvek unlocked the door and led the way inside, disarming every trap as he went. It really wouldn’t do to have Gil setting them off. 

“Ooh…” Of course Gil released him and made for the lab equipment. 

“Don’t break my glassware.” Tarvek took the glass from his pocket and swabbed the interior of it. “And don’t steal my reagents,” he added, snatching a bottle from Gil’s hand. 

“I’m not stealing.” Gil propped his chin on Tarvek’s shoulder, watching with rapt attention as he performed a quick analysis of the residue in the glass. His sigh tickled Tarvek’s ear. “What… what is that incredible smell? Spice and something… some kind of resin?”

A swift blush burned Tarvek’s cheeks, and he felt deep gratitude that Gil could not see his face. “Hair oil. I’m trying out a new formulation.”

“It’s good.”

Tarvek made a small noise of agreement. He hated that Gil could affect him so easily, so carelessly. He hated it, but… Well, even if Gil never mentioned it again, Tarvek decided to keep that particular set of fragrances in his hair oil. 

They leaned against one another in silence until Tarvek had the results he sought. “I know this drug,” he grumbled, pushing Gil away so he could stand. “It causes brief unconsciousness—twenty minutes to an hour.” He arched an eyebrow at Gil. “The dosage was obviously calculated for Seffie’s body mass. Then,” he continued, “the mark spills his guts for up to four hours, and forgets everything after sleeping it off.”

“Huh,” Gil said. Very helpful. 

“So this must be the part where I get to interrogate you.”

He had been joking, but Gil surprised Tarvek by saying, “Oh, no, I’ll do the interrogating, thanks.”

Tarvek laughed. “Sure, but I’m not the one who’s drugged.” He dropped himself into a wheeled chair and rolled dramatically away from Gil, arms spread in a gesture of invitation. “Take your best shot.”

“Why do you hate me?”

Tarvek blinked at him. “I don’t hate you.” Not even close. “You frustrate me. You infuriate me.” Sometimes even terrify. “But you have yet to inspire true hatred.”

Gil bounced in place, which looked wildly unsteady. At least if he collapsed here, Tarvek needn’t carry him anywhere. “Do you hate anyone?”

“Loads of people.” Almost all of them family. 

“Good.”

Tarvek chuckled. “You’re severely impaired, you know that?”

“I’m asking the questions,” Gil objected. “What was I asking?”

“You asked about hate. I can only assume love comes next.” Oh, now, why had he said that? Disgruntled with himself, Tarvek glared defiance at Gil. 

“Good, yes, good.” Gil nodded on every word. “What does love feel like?”

Not the question Tarvek had expected. “Torture,” he said, not recognizing the blunder until it was too late. 

Gil’s eyes narrowed, shrewd and a little too lucid again. Then he resumed smiling. “Surely  _you_  of all people enjoy romance. Wine and poetry and flowers and all?”

More like incendiary devices and madcap chases through Paris. Tarvek shook his head. “I assume it’s more fun when received with at least a bit of interest,” he said, feeling bitter and cagey. 

“You’re Sparky and royal, and you’re well groomed and always fashionable. You must not have confessed your intentions.”

If Tarvek had been standing, he would have had to sit. Gil considered him desirable, at least to other people. What an unexpected lift to his self esteem! “You sound entirely too sure of that.”

“Come on, there’s no reason not to.” Gil tried for a challenging stare, but ruined it by wobbling. 

There were a thousand reasons not to. Tarvek sighed. “You can’t know…”

“I’m sure you can do it,” Gil interrupted. “You were brave enough to befriend  _me_  once. Just say: ‘hey, I fancy you, and I’d like to kiss you.’ See what happens.”

Tarvek made his expression as blank as he could. “Hey. I fancy you, and I’d like to kiss you.”

Beaming, Gil managed to lean in to thump him on the shoulder. “That’s the ticket! Now you just need to go and find this—” He frowned. “Girl? Boy? I probably should have asked.”

Tarvek swallowed an urge to cry, swallowed every hollow, aching heartbeat. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll have to marry someone appropriate, so it’s pointless anyway.”

“Oho, so Tarvek loves someone beneath his station!” Gil grinned at him. “Good. Most royals are duller than a rubber knife.”

“Do you want to get punched?”

“I’m asking the questions,” Gil reminded him again, with a glint of glee in his grin. 

Tarvek lifted his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “Ask,” he said, though he felt surly and disinclined to answer anything else. 

“What’s stopping you from confessing your feelings?”

A good question. Tarvek eyed Gil with a wry twist to his lips. “Too many factors.” How often had he weighed the warmth of Gil’s lips against the dangers from his family? How often had he wondered just how hard Gil would hit him for making any overtures of romance? No, he decided now, Gil would not hit him. Gil would just stare in empty, blank confusion. Would that hurt worse? Probably. He sighed. “I know you can’t understand, but it’s just not safe.”

Gil gestured at himself. “Drugged because of your family,” he pointed out, and Tarvek frowned. 

“Did I ever say it was family business?” he said, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

“It-s y'r cousin’s drink,” Gil slurred. He swayed dangerously far to the left. Then, taking several slow, deep breaths, he righted himself. “Where were we?”

“I cannot believe you’re doing this.”

“Answer,” Gil demanded, Sparky notes creeping into his voice. Tarvek eyed him with curiosity. Did this conversation really matter to him? Even knowing that he would forget everything?

“You think my romantic challenges can be easily resolved.” Tarvek arched an eyebrow at Gil. “You’re an idiot, but I appreciate that you mean well.”

“I like you being honest. Why don’t you do that more often?”

“You really want me to get killed, don’t you? It’s not safe,” he said before Gil could chide him for asking another question. “I’m surprised you haven’t realized that by now.”

“You’re better than you think you are.” Gil’s head bobbed in unstable assurance.

“Not as good as I should be,” Tarvek grumbled. In so many ways, he failed his own expectations. 

Gil stared at him, head tilting this way and that, somewhat like a bird. “What do you expect of yourself?”

Tarvek looked away. “I don’t know… Heroics? Noble character?” He shrugged and shook his head. “To earn my birthright?” Really, it was a good question. 

Gil leaned over him, hands clasped behind his back, grinning. He stayed like that until Tarvek scowled. 

“What?”

“You’re a romantic. One day, when you rule Sturmhalten…” Gil paused for long enough that Tarvek began to hope he might be trying to say something nice. “You’ll grow disillusioned with the minutiae of governance and start feeding lawbreakers to the meanest monster you can find,” he concluded with a sagely nod. 

“What the hell!” Tarvek yelped. “Where would you even get that idea?”

“I’ve watched it happen. It’s tragic. You’re doomed.” This last Gil delivered with a beatific smile. 

“You’re an idiot.”

“Maybe, but not about this.” Gil turned in a slow circle, bobbling as he went. He waved his arms loosely, and he gave a heartfelt sigh. “I really wish you and I were still friends.” He stilled and he stared, his head sagged a little to one side. 

“We would have ruined it by now anyway,” Tarvek said. Probably owing to his own hopeless infatuation. 

“Mmh,” was Gil’s noncommittal reply. He faltered, his leg muscles suddenly going loose like aspic jelly. Stage three. Despite his previous determination to allow this fool to collapse on the floor, Tarvek moved to catch him. 

“Look at you. You’re a mess.” Tarvek looked down at the hand on the center of his chest, and his grip tightened on Gil’s arms. No, it wasn’t Gil who was a mess here. In this moment, Gil was blameless of everything but hanging on the brink of consciousness. 

“Nnuh?” Gil sagged more, and Tarvek tried to consider the logistics of dragging or propelling him to the bed in the next room. Instead, he watched Gil’s tongue roll out to moisten parched lips, and he let out an involuntary groan. Gil froze, as much as one could freeze while losing a fight for balance. “Wha’s wrong?”

Wrong. There was no way Gil could be that much of an innocent. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

“What?” Gil’s eyes widened a moment before going unfocused. “Why…?”

He slumped in Tarvek’s arms, unconscious. 

Well. 

Annoyed, Tarvek dragged Gil into the bedroom. “'Why,’” he grumbled, bitterness in every breath. “Because it’s you, you complete imbecile. You’re heavier than you look, you know. Are you… are you  _snoring?_ ” He heaved Gil onto the bed. “Of course you are.”

He hesitated for a moment before he loosened the fastenings of Gil’s clothes. Surely that didn’t count as taking advantage. He pulled the blankets up and he tucked them around Gil, who sighed and rubbed his feet together in his sleep. Feet never lie. 

“Oh, what the hell.” Tarvek leaned down one more time, and he pressed a swift, heartfelt kiss to Gil’s forehead. “At least one of us is getting some sleep tonight.” As much as it hurt, he turned away. 

On the way out, Tarvek put a few drops of his hair oil into a warmer. He knew it was self-indulgent, but he wanted Gil to wake up to the fragrance. He locked up, and he stepped back out into the night. 

Without Gil leaning on him, encumbering him, Tarvek quickly retraced his steps. He arrived back at the reception in time to see Seffie and Colette leaving together, laughing about something. The both seemed fine. Relieved, Tarvek skulked in the shadows, watching them. When he thought Seffie was too far to hear, he whistled five soft notes. 

Varpa appeared, disgruntled and disheveled. “Your Highness?”

Tarvek rolled his shoulders, affecting an attitude of annoyance to cover his genuine concern. “I have a  _libertine_  in my bed right now, sleeping off a dose of Spill-All σ2. He…  _drooled_  on my collar. I want to know what happened. A full report by dawn.”

Varpa, who looked to have had a rough night so far, tried to disguise exasperation with a small bow. “Sire.” With that, the Smoke Knight vanished into the night. 

Varpa would tell him. Oh, no, not everything, not even close. But enough that he could start unraveling the threads of this latest intrigue. And if he was exceptionally lucky, Gil might even stay out of the way this time. 

Tarvek scoffed at himself. He was never, ever lucky.

**Author's Note:**

> Later...
> 
> Gil: Did you find that big ugly guy who spiked the von Blitzengaard girl's drink?
> 
> Bang: Pfft, do you think I'm an amateur or something?
> 
> Gil: Great, where is he?
> 
> Bang: Which piece? ;)
> 
> Gil: *headdesk*


End file.
